Snapshots
by Anaquia
Summary: A collection of scenes and one-shots, attempts at 'fun', and explorations of NPC backstories. May contain a lot of Anomen in some chapters!
1. Sir Blethyn

_It's been forever since I posted anything, I'm so ashamed!_

 _Most of these stories I had written/started a long while ago, but never posted them before... I'll update with new ones after I brush them up a bit. Hope you enjoy!_

* * *

 _The first is a look at the man who had Ano squired even though he didn't have all the paperwork..._

* * *

The boy appeared round the corner of the Chapterhouse at noon, as Sir Blethyn had expected, wearing the red and grey tabard of a Novice of Helm over his regular clothes. There was no one else out in the streets at that time of day, in the crippling heat, and still the boy marched valiantly onwards under the blazing sun and disappeared from view.

The ageing knight laid down his unused pen, stood up from the desk and carried himself to the window. There he was again, walking up the bridge to the front gate, beckoning the two sentries who hardly took any notice of him anymore. He disappeared inside, and Sir Blethyn moved back from the window.

It was the boy's punctuality and determination that had caught his attention first. He had first noticed him a tenday earlier, and since then every single day had seen him back in front of the Chapterhouse at the very same hour, constant as a clock made by Gond himself, and likely skipping his lunch to be able to come here and see for himself if there had been any new developments regarding his case.

He had made enquiries of course, and had been told vague and absurd tales of a boy who had applied against his father's own approval and whom Ryan Trawl had not wished to oppose a stern refusal to, much to his growing embarrassment. He had not been granted access to his applicant file however, under the pretence that the training and recruiting of squires was none of his business anymore.

The whole thing seemed hardly regular at all. There were rules, and Ryan would have told the boy about them, for sure. An unsuccessful applicant would have little cause to come back to the Chapterhouse again and again after being duly rejected, and most avoided the place and the burning sting of humiliation its proximity caused. It was not at all like Ryan to withhold judgement and give an applicant false hopes – surely, there was quite another story behind all this.

And so now, he believed, had come the time for a little conversation.

The great hall was empty as he descended, and the sounds of his footsteps echoed unanswered between the marble columns and glass cases displaying the old treasures of the Order, spoils of war and weapons of old masters resting in plain view in watchful silence.

He found the lad soon enough, standing in the half-lit corridor outside of Trawl's office with his back turned to him, as stiff even as he believed himself alone as if an entire roomful of armoured knights had been directing their whole attention at him.

Sir Blethyn stepped forward, making enough noise on purpose to signal his approach. The boy's shoulders stiffened, but at the expense of a great wilful effort he did not turn round.

'You will find nobody here at this time of day, lad.'

The boy started. Forced to properly acknowledge the knight at last, he turned around and eyed him with a look of slight panic. Maybe a little older than fifteen, then, definitely older than most first-time applicants. Not by much, but enough that it might elicir comments from the other squires.

'I beg your pardon? Sir?'

'Everyone has gone to lucnch now. I don't expect Sir Ryan will be back for another half hour at least.'

The boy's shoulders slumped and he sighed deeply. He looked up at him, opened his mouth as if to say something, then shrugged to himself and prepared to go.

'May I ask what a young denizen of Helm such as yourself would be doing in the Chapterhouse at this time of day?'

The boy said nothing for a moment, mouthing silent half-formed words, with eyes wide open like a fish out of water. Sir Blethyn wondered for a second whether he was exceptionally dense, or merely uncomfortable in the presence of people. Neither would be an unsurmontable obstacle, but he preferred to know beforehand what he would be up against.

'Well? What reason have you that was so important that you would take it upon yourself to leave the temple during the day and come here alone?'

'I...' The boy looked around and steeled himself, realizing he had no choice. ' I have come to see Sir Ryan Trawl, sir.'

The boy looked up anxiously at him. Sir Blethyn refrained from rolling his eyes – the slightest wrong move, it seemed, could have driven the boy away.

'And why would that be, if you please?'

'I... I was told before to come back in a few days to discuss things over, regarding my applicant file, sir.'

'Would you not have set an appointment for this? This is how it usually happens.'

'I-I know, sir. But the heart of the matter is, I don't have a letter from my father, and...'

The boy interrupted himself and shrugged.

Some of the rumours at least had had some truth to them, then. He could not believe such meandering, unlawful behaviour from Ryan Trawl, of all people. Surely there must have been something more to it?

'My lad', he said, as gently as possible. 'Without your father's or legal tutor's written permission, I am afraid there is very little that can be done.'

Despair washed over the boy's features, and he looked away to try to hide it. Sir Blethyn sighed deeply.

'Do you at least have a name?'

'Hm, yes, sir. Delryn, sir.'

'Ah.'

That explained it, then. There had been a young lady some years ago, he remembered her well, who had married a merchant by that name eventually. Ryan had doted over her much, when he was still a young squire under his watch, but circumstances had prompted her to wed another much older, much richer man before he had been knighted and become able to ask her himself. From what he'd heard, things had not gone well in that family since then. That was it, then. Damn that foolish youngster for not telling him earlier.

The boy peered up at him expectantly, shoulders tightened.

'Well. And what of your armour? You are a novice of Helm, am I correct?', he said, gesturing to the open eye that adorned the front of the boy's tabard.

'Yes, sir. The temple will provide me with one when I progress in rank, sir.'

'Good, very good. So there is only the matter of your father's permission to be resolved, then. What you truly need to find there is a knight who would have you squired in spite of this small technicality.'

'I know, I _know_!', the boy answered, a little too tersely for Blethyn's taste. 'I asked Sir Ryan about it several times, but no one would...'

He suddenly blushed and bowed his head.

'My apologies, sir. I beg your pardon for my outburst, I shouldn't have.'

Much better. Sir Blethyn nodded.

'And what would you say if I be that knight?'

'...Sir?'

The boy looked up in surprise, all at the same time rather puzzled, hopeful and slightly disappointed. Sir Blethyn suppressed another sigh, and a bitter laugh. He may be indeed quite old, and not the most prestigious sponsor an aspiring squire could dream of, but for this one he may still be the only choice. And he was from finished, would to Helm.

''You will have to prove yourself worthy of the position, of course. And you will still need to produce references from the Temple and from another knight of good standing as well. But I would be willing to let you squire without the other document, if all the rest is in order.

The boy nodded eagerly.

'Yes, sir', he said, with new lightness in his voice. 'Thank you, sir.'

''You will thank me once weverything is settled, not before. Come back the same hour tomorrow with an assessment from the senior Watcher, and we will look it over. Now shoo, back to the Temple, or you'll be late.'

'Yes, sir. Thank you, sir', the boy repeated.

He offered him a tentative grin, and promptly ran away before the older man would have a chance to change his mind.

Good. Good. His days of dungeon crawling and crypt scouting were now long gone, and likely would never come again, but he was not finished, far from it, and could certainly last a few more years in the Order, despite what certain others might say. He would _not_ be relegated to a perfunctory desk job, not when his mind was still alert and clear, and his strength had never truly failed him... Save once, and that was a mistake any other might have made in his place, and Helm knew that he had been paying dearly for it ever since, and would until his death and beyond.

But he _would_ set things right again, he would make an outstanding knight out of that bereft boy, by Helm he would. I would not be easy – a fine pair they would make, the destitute squire, older than his peers, and the failed ageing knight, subjected to the jeers and gibes of their brothers, but with the gods' help they would succeed in the end, they would all see.


	2. Delryn shield

_So how did Anomen manage to end up with that family shield, anyway?_

* * *

'Good business... By my word, if this isn't the young master Anomen?'

There was a rattle as the guard stepped aside, and, upon noticing the new suit of armour and holy symbol that Anomen himself was wearing, he greeted him with a little more familiarity than might be expected from a family servant.

'How do you fare?... I gather that all is well at the temple?'

Anomen eagerly answered – the man, after all, had been one of those who had first instructed him in the handling of weapons, in an informal capacity – and filled in the older Helmite on the latest happenings at the temple. A lengthy discussion was tempting, as he had questions of his own regarding the usual course of training as well as temple politics, but other pressing, uncomfortable matters were nagging at his mind, capturing his attention.

'And what would be the reason of your visit here today, if I may ask?', the man said.

Anomen sighed inwardly. That, of course, was the question he had dreaded to hear – now he would have to explain, and he would have to go in through that damned door after all.

'I... As it happens, there was a letter waiting for me this morning at the temple... My father, asking me to come and see him as soon as possible...'

He tried reaching into his pocket to produce the evidence, realizing too late that the suit of armour made the manoeuver impossible to achieve. The young man blushed, but the older Helmite reassured him with a smile.

'Ah, yes, I heard him speak of it... Nothing truly serious I expect, do not worry yourself. Before you go, however... I must warn you that he was not in his best state the last time I saw him. That was yesterday evening, and I can only hope that he has recovered by now.'

The man sniffed disdainfully, and Anomen winced.

'Perhaps you wish to come back another day, when he is at the best of his capacities?'

Anomen barked a short, humourless laugh.

'Alas, I suspect I could wait for years, and never find him truly sober. No... 'twould be better to have this be done and over with as soon as possible... I think.'

'As you wish... I would advise you to be mindful in words and gestures, though. Mistress Moira is not home at the moment.'

That was unfortunate indeed, if only because he had not seen his little sister for quite some time, and had hoped that the visit would be an occasion to speak with her at least, maybe take her out on a short walk, if she had the time. Bah. That was another reason to be done with the whole thing and leave the wretched place as swiftly as possible.

Anomen nodded glumly, and the other man opened the door for him.

As soon as he came it, it was like an ill wind had taken hold of his soul. The main hall was dark and cold, in comparison to the blazing heat outside, and all sound had died, snuffed out with the light. Crossing the dimly-lit hallway was like a stroll through memories, some he had thought he had managed to bury deep and forget forever. And yet the sight of an object, or a corner of the room, conjured up images that made each step forward a harsh and painful struggle.

He peered into the kitchen on his right at the end of the hall, but nobody was there. A stray streak of light fell brightly upon the table beneath the window, a plucked chicken hung on display from the ceiling, and the scent of aromatic herbs filled the air, but of human presence there was none. The caretaker and Moira must have gone out to the market together, he thought, or something like that – the thought of his little sister going alone through the filth of Athkatla was not something he cared to contemplate. No signs of Cor, at any rate.

The study, then, upstairs.

The old wooden steps of the staircase creaked louder under his feet than they did in his memories, and he had to keep a strong grip on the handrail to steady himself, and eventually manage another step.

The landing was darker even than the hall downstairs, if that was possible, and Anomen had to lower his head to pass under the beam that hung over the passage into the corridor at the end. One door, two doors on his left.

Anomen halted in front of the third door. He raised his hand to knock but left it hanging. Was that speaking and muttering that he could hear on the other side of the wretched forsaken door? He was at it again then – rambling to himself and to his own dead old mother, pacing up and down the room. He would have to find Moira another place to live, he thought, as soon as he possibly could.

By the Nine Hells and all of the demons in them! Fighting orcs and wizards was no cause of fear for him, nor ogres and wyverns, for that matter. Helm, he would fight even a dragon, if it came to that. But that room, that feeble old man just beyond reach had him completely terrified.

 _Calm yourself down_ , he told himself. Y _ou're as tall as he is, now. You're trained in combat, and Helm is on your side. He's just a pitiful old drunk with no strength left in his body, he cannot hurt you any more._

And yet somehow, he doubted that.

The ale tasted awfully bitter, even for ale. What was he even drinking the stuff for, already? Business investigation, of course, he reminded himself. Test the new product. Yes.

And yet what was the point of it all, now? All of his ambitions for them – dead. All of his projects – deluded fancies, left out to rot. Unless he came back, yes, unless the boy came back. And then they could anew, his trade empire, and high ranking officials, foreign princes would line up before his door begging the privilege to be invited at his monthly parties, and his heart would swell with pride at the thought of what his children had become.

But they had all betrayed him, all of them, Moirala included. She was the one who had stuffed his son's head with silly fairy tales, after all. Moirala, Anomen, the gods even, Moira too, who took every occasion that she could to sneak out of the house.

No more, he thought. No more. He took another sip of the so-called 'ale', and found it no better the second time around.

A knock on the door.

'Who's there? Moira?'

'It is I, father', said another familiar voice on the other side. 'I received your letter and came to see you.'

Anomen. Good.

'Well, you're not going to see me through that door, are you?'

In he came, with a sound of rattling metal, and Cor burst out laughing.

He knew all about it, he had expected it of course, but seeing it was quite another thing. Maybe that was Helm's idea of a vengeance, for all the blasphemies he had spoken over the years against the god his wife revered. The boy, thankfully, looked at him uneasily, with perhaps even a twinge of fear. Couldn't have born a look of pride or smugness on that face, no, not here, not now. Still the same kid after all then, nothing changed but an added tin can.

Cor barked another laugh, and the boy twitched – dear gods, what would they be doing with one like him in that Order of his?

'So, the proud son of the Delryns has come back home after all. How long is it you've been away? One year? Two years? Wouldn't hurt you to come and visit your old father from time to time.'

'I... You sent for me, father. I thought you wanted to speak with me.'

'Bah.' Cor disregarded the interruption. 'Now look at yourself. You could _at least_ have made yourself presentable before appearing before me.'

The boy's shoulders tightened, his jaw clenched. His eyes darted to the door. _Oh no, you don't. I still need you here yet._

'Speaking of which, I heard you had difficulties with obtaining a shield.'

'I...'

Cor raised his eyes to the ceiling.

'As a matter of fact, yes, I did!', the boy said, his voice firmer, a twinge of anger bubbling close under the surface. 'It will be some time before I can afford one myself, and the temple doesn't...'

Cor Delryn raised his hand.

'Couldn't that precious Order of yours help you out there?', he interrupted him impatiently. 'From what I've heard and seen, a handful of danters wouldn't be too much to fork out for one of their best knights.'

'The temple of Helm would have to...' Anomen stammered, his face a dozen shades of red by now. 'I have... still not been knighted as of yet, as it happens.'

Another laugh, deep from the belly, impossible to stop. By all the gods, he would fully doubt the boy was even his if he didn't look like him so much.

'Ah. So the Order and Cor Delryn do agree on something at last.'

He didn't leave him the time to let that sink in.

'Come here.'

He beckoned him to come closer, and the boy obeyed, cautious and weary. To the table in the corner of the room, where the thing lay. It had been there for days, collecting dust, ever since a servant had taken it out of the attic more than a tenday ago, the day before Cor wrote the letter. It would be gone soon, and a good riddance too.

Anomen looked at the shield in reverence and awe, as if he was afraid to touch it. He could almost glimpse the confused thoughts that were rambling in his head.

'Father, I...'

'Hush. Take it. Do your old father a service, and get this piece of junk out of his hands.'

The boy observed the shield some more and finally dared to lift it, examine it from every angle, feel its weight on his arm.

'I... Thank you', he said, turning back to him. 'I will make good use of it, I promise.'

'Bah!'

Cor Delryn spat on the floor.

'Don't go thinking that I'm letting you keep that out of the goodness of my heart. You need it. It's yours. A reminder that you are my son. Something to make you think of me, whenever you walk into the battlefield. And when you fail they'll look at it, and remember that sign, and they will know that a Delryn is not a warrior. I'm pretty sure that they already do. It's you who can't see it.'

'I...'

His face turned a deep shade of red, and yet, slowly, the wave of anger passed.

'I thank you, regardless', Anomen said, his voice tightly controlled, a little sad. 'My deeds will shine on the crest of the Delryns, and reflect upon the good name of our family. Even yours. And it is _that_ that people will think of when looking upon this shield.'

Enough, enough. The laughter again, stronger and louder, that had him hunched over this time, taken his breath away. And coughing, now. Now quick, his handkerchief, in his pocket, or he might choke to death.

'Anomen', he said at last. 'Do yourself a favour and get over yourself already, will ye? Get lost. Out of my sight. I'm growing tired of this conversation.'

The boy looked up at him, and said nothing. Opened his mouth as if to speak, but said nothing. Nodded. Squared his shoulders, and left. Taking the shield with him, of course.

Well.

That was all that they would see, wouldn't they? Looking at that shield. A hapless, incapable boy, one who deliberately and honourlessly ran from his real duties and abandonned his family.

 _Three months. Three months at the most, that's what I'll give him before he comes back crawling on his knees, begging for forgiveness and for me to take him back and teach him the craft of a merchant. We'll see._

Cor Delryn sat down again and leaned back in his chair, took another sip of the Calimite ale and winced in displeasure. This truly was bitter stuff.


	3. Banters

_Just a few random banters... Including a couple of serious Ano/Yoshi confrontations, a vaguely flirty Jaheira/Keldorn discussion, and Imoen messing with Edwin's brains... : )_

* * *

 **Yoshimo/Anomen/Keldorn**

(Party rests)

 **Yoshimo:** What, no jogging around, no training early in the morning? I had a notion this was the sort of exertion that you knights were fond of.

 **Anomen:** There is no point in exhausting yourself without purpose.

 **Yoshimo:** Ah.

 **Anomen:** Verily, there isn't. Strength is of no benefit if your heart and breath cannot follow. In my training as a healer, I have seen many a young overzealous squire, overcome by a weak constitution. I remember one especially. He was a fast runner, though he could never sustain such effort for very long. He ran himself to exhaustion once, training for a competition – his heart failed him. He recovered eventually, but his dreams of knighthood were out of reach of course. The last I heard of him, he was working small jobs at the family farm.

 **Keldorn:** Ah, yes, I remember this one. Squire Logan, was it not? Such a sad and sorry tale indeed.

* * *

 **Yoshimo/Anomen**

(In a tavern)

 **Drunk man:** *burps*

 **Anomen:** Stay away from me. You've had quite enough to drink for this evening.

 **Drunk man:** *grumbles*

 **Anomen:** I don't understand why the Council doesn't enforce a law against drunkards and their ilk, and put an end to this.

 **Yoshimo:** Anomen, my good lad. Surely, even a Helmite such as yourself wouldn't begrudge a weary man a little fun after a day of hard work earning his bread, would you?

 **Anomen:** Fun? You call this _fun_? People like that do not lose themselves in drink to have fun! What would you have me do? Just leave him be and do what he will, so that he can get home and start yelling and beating his wife and children? ... Enough, I will not discuss this any more, let us move on.

* * *

 **Jaheira/Keldorn**

 **Jaheira:** Keldorn, I have been watching you of late...

 **Keldorn:** Ah, my dear, what a wonderful compliment to make to an old man such as myself!

 **Jaheira:** I appreciate the humour, Keldorn, but I must admit some worried thoughts have crossed my mind. Surely a servant of Torm such as yourself must entertain some doubts about the path we are treading?

(If CHARNAME is good) CHARNAME does strive to follow the rightful path, but there is no denying that the blood of the god of murder flows in his/her veins.

(If CHARNAME is evil) CHARNAME does not always follow the rightful path, and I don't, in all honesty, understand how you can still stand to follow him/her?

(If CHARNAME is neutral) CHARNAME could still go either way at this point, and there is no way to tell what he/she will become. Are you not worried about this?

 **Keldorn:** They will be aligned good and evil, Alaundo said of Bhaal's children. I would think it my duty to offer my service to the good one, and keep in check the evil one. Whatever the outcome, I have to trust that the gods are looking over this affair still. CHARNAME and the rest of our companions are but children still, young in experience. We have seen something more of the world, you and I, and it is up to us to keep an eye on them.

 **Jaheira:** I... Thank you for your trust, Keldorn. It is rather unexpected, but I thank you nevertheless.

* * *

 **Imoen/Edwin**

 **Imoen:** Hey, Eddie!

 **Edwin:** What is it now, girl, can't you see that I'm...

 **Imoen:** Yeah, I know you're busy and all, but I just wanted to ask your opinion about something. You know, as a mage.

 **Edwin:** (What is it now?) Hm! This better not be one of your childish jokes again. Make it quick, would you? (Yes, that will do...)

 **Imoen:** Well, I was wondering... That's something I used to talk about with CHARNAME when we were kids... Here's how it goes. Imagine that the colours you see are not the same as the colours I see. I mean, that's possible, considering you can describe a colour only by its name. Like you can't say what red is like, without saying that it's red!

 **Edwin:** Yes, and what is your point supposed to be, again? (This childish prattle is seriously wearing on my patience!)

 **Imoen:** Well, then it's actually possible that the colours we see are different. There's no proof against it, is there? So what I see as red could be blue for you, or your yellow could be my green! It's only names!

 **Edwin:** (Now, that's what you get for encouraging her!) Yes, go on... (Stop saying that!)

 **Imoen:** So I thought that maybe... maybe in fact everybody's favourite colour is the same, only they see it under different names. It could be green or blue or whatever, but it would only be different names for the same colour!

 **Edwin:** Erm... Your favourite colour is pink, is it not? (Now stop it, don't go give her any ideas!)

 **Imoen:** That is precisely my point! I mean... My favourite colour is pink, right? And I suppose that the favourite colours of you Red Wizards is... well, red. So, according to my theory, if I could see the world through _your_ eyes, then it's possible that I would see your lot walking around all dressed in what I call pink!

 **Edwin:** … ( _What?!_ ) … Imoen, girl, you truly baffle me sometimes. You _do_ realize (Ah, I bet she doesn't!) that since _all_ colours have to be the favourite of _someone_ (even _pink_!), all colours would have to be one and the same, which they obviously aren't?

 **Imoen:** Yeah, yeah, I know... But who cares, though? That was fun! (snicker)

 **Edwin:** (ALL of them...)


	4. Cold nights

_BG1 this time, AU-ish, where Eddie ends up stuck in the gnoll fortress!_

* * *

The ground was cold and damp and he was freezing to death.

Edwin shivered and sneezed. Wonderful, simply wonderful. Why in the world did these dastardly creatures have to keep their prisoners in such constricted and uncomfortable places? Couldn't they _at least_ have some nice and dry cells _inside_ their fortress, like any self-respecting civilized species? Though it was not exactly a surprise, really, after all the nonsense he had been subjected to since leaving Thay.

Edwin sighed up to the heavens, in the hope that _something_ might hear and empathize with his plight, then began rummaging through the debris that littered the bottom of the pit he had been brought – or more accurately unceremoniously flung – into, looking for bits of wood and twigs that he could burn. He had tried looking around without touching anything first – you never knew what sort of things the gnolls could have stored in those pits before – but there was no way around it. Oh, the things one had to do in desperate circumstances.

Finally, he managed to gather enough dry-ish wood to build something that could have looked almost like a decent fire, but by then, there was too much noise up there over his pit anyway, and he couldn't _concentrate_! And he seemed to have misplaced his spellbook. Not that he was incapable of casting spells without his book, mind you, but it would have helped a lot.

Really, the racket the creatures were making was inconcievable.

Edwin sighed again. It would be the end of summer in Thay too, still warm and nice. All of his family gathered together. Even listening to rambling expos&s about his uncle's latest ''research'' and his mother's political endeavours would be better than this damp and dready place in this damp and dreary country where even summer was wet and cold.

And to think that one simple tiny prank would have deprived him of all of that and ultimately brought hime here? But then, was it his fault if the fabric of the zulkir's clothes had caught on fire and burned up? How would he have been supposed to predict something like _that_? What self-respecting Red Wizard pranced around in non fire-proofed robes anyway?

And then there had been the disciplinary hearing, then the exile – for it _was_ exile, and not some sort of experience-building, honourable ''promotion'' as they would have him believe! The journey, long and pointless, and his new position in this remote, damp and _green_ place, with more birds and trees and flowers than any real Thayvian could possibly be expected to bear.

It had been hard work, trying to get used to living in the enclave. And yet he was slowly starting to get the hang of it, making potions to sell to the village – a waste of his talents! – when the witch and the giant had appeared in the region. And _of course_ , who was it that the council had charged with the task of tracking them down? It _was_ an honour to have been chosen for that purpose, he supposed – not to mention, an occasion to have a few good words about him slipped in to the hierarchy, possibly hastening his return home if he managed to handle the issue quickly and efficiently without rousing suspicion among the locals.

He had hoped at least the mission would have distracted him from his usual work a bit – and yet, the two Rashemen had done nothing, it seemed, but wander aimlessly around the counttryside, not the most interesting of journeys. He had slept outside in the cold, hidden behind trees and under bushes in the forest, in the constant fear that the ranger and his rodent would notice his presence, and he had ruined his clothes. And now this?! Could things possibly get any worse?

That was the moment it dawned on him that the impossible din upstairs had stopped, and been replaced by silence more deafening even. Had something happened?

'Hey, guys', a voice said right above him before he'd had any time to investigate. 'There's another one down here, what do we do?'

Edwin lifted his eyes and spotted a youthful face gazing down at him, a mane of dishevelled red hair circling it. The girl grinned at him, and beckoned to other people above he could not see.

There was a shuffling of feet, another face appeared next to the first one, his heart skipped a beat and the wizard suddenly found himself feeling very weak.

'Oh, look, Boo, the evil wizard is here!'

Great. Wonderful. Now why did this sort of thing keep happening to him?


	5. Pillow fight

_This is one of the very first pieces that I ever wrote in English... It's a dinosaur! Set when the party is going to Brynn Law, and involving a seasick Jaheira, a silly Anomen, and my main Bhaalspawn, a sometimes abjurer/sometimes priestess called Alhena. Hope you enjoy!_

* * *

Jaheira was lying in bed with a crippling headache. Every time she tried to move or get up, she found herself submerged by a shiver and a wave of uneasinness that made her feel as if she was going to be sick. Every time she tried to stand up, the floor was moving under her feet. Quite literally.

They had been sailing on the _Galante_ for a few days now, making their way to Brynn Law. It was utter madness, she had always said so, from the very first time she'd seen the thing docked in Athkatla. The others had tried to reassure her that everything would be fine – they still trusted Linvail enough to believe that he would keep his word and provide them with a viable ship – and anyway, Boo looked alright and had accepted without too much reluctance to get on board.

And now of course they were all cavorting on the deck upstairs, rejoicing in the momentary peace and generally enjoying themselves, while _she_ was stuck down there in bed with a desperate case of sea-sickness.

She had refused the others' kind attentions, and taken a plant infusion that she had managed to prepare herself, but it didn't seem to have had much effect yet. How vexing.

At least, they were going to recover Imoen soon, hopefully unharmed.

Really, she wondered, who could be the sick-minded gnome who had decided one day that it would be a great idea to gather up pieces of dead trees and put them in the water and use them for transport? Khalid had been a lover of the sea – she for herself liked her ground steady under her feet, thank you very much.

* * *

Alhena knocked on the door, thinking that Anomen would be here. They seemed to have been spending a lot of time together in the past few days – not to say most of their time –, especially since that last evening in the Copper Coronet before they left. Alhena smiled in spite of herself, and hoped that Anomen would open the door. There had still been no answer, though.

She knocked a second time.

'It is I', she said, hoping that he would speak. There was a scraping sound, of a chair on the floor probably, then another noise, and then nothing more.

Alhena frowned, hesitated, then slowly pushed the door to take a look inside the room – something she would never have dared to do before, even a few days ago. The cabin was clear and tidy, of course, and bright light was pouring onto the wooden floor through the open window. Just on the right was a narrow table, on which lay Anomen's weapons, neatly arranged. Intriguingly, the chair had been abandonned casually a good way away from the table.

And the knight himself seemed to be lying on the bed, with his face turned away from the door. Seasick?

Taking a few careful steps forward, Alhena advanced slowly towards the prostrate figure, half fearing that it might be a doppelganger that lay there, or a magically disguised goblin or something, instead of her Anomen.

'Anomen?', she called, and still he didn't move.

She laid a hand on his shoulder, and tried to shake him a little.

'Ani? Wake up, please?'

No answer, and still he lay there 'sleeping'.

'Come on, you can get up now', she said, half laughing by now, and pretending not to notice the smile that was forming on his lips.

She had expected the attack, but when it came it was swift and strong enough that she yipped in surprise anyway. Thinking she was going to choke with laughter, she grabbed the nearest available weapon and struck back, fighting for dear life.

* * *

The sound of laughter again, from one of the adjoining rooms.

It really did nothing to help her headache, but she tried to remain calm – standing up wouldn't do her much good either.

Thump! Shblam!

Now enough was enough!

Jaheira raised herself up on her elbows and concentrated on the task of standing up and staying so. The ground was still swaying under her feet, but it wasn't as bad as before. Maybe the herbs were taking effect after all. Good. Maybe she could even manage to walk. With great care, leaning on the wall for support and planning her every step, she managed to get out of the room eventually, and into the corridor.

Bang!

Jaheira made her way to the incriminating door, her legs still quivering slightly, and knocked on the pannel.

Nothing.

She knocked again, more vigorously this time.

Somebody laughed. Obviously they hadn't heard a thing.

Now they'd had their warning, Jaheira thouht, she had done all that she could, it was not her fault if they did not heed it, and any dire consequences would be their own responsibility. Without further ado, Jaheira opened the door.

Something landed straight on her face and threw her a little off balance, then fell at her feet – somethin large and fluffy, that had spun through the air before colliding with her arched eyebrow.

She opened her eyes, and found Alhena half sitting on the bed, with one of Anomen's arms wrapped tightly around her shoulders. His other hand was still hanging open in mid-air, while both of Alhena's were handling her weapon of choice – the second pillow.

'What in the Nine Hells is happening in here?'

Both Alhena and Anomen froze, their grins becoming stiff as realization sunk in. They shared a horrified look and blushed in unison. Alhena was the first to regain her spirits.

'Hm, oops? Sorry?'

'Sylvanus grant me patience! I should summon a thunderstorm and strike you both where you are!'

Anomen shifted his eyes uneasily and cleared his throat.

'My lady Jaheira, if I may... Seeing as we are on a boat, surely doing so would mean a swift death by fire for all of us?'

'Hm-hm', Alhena added. 'Not even counting the damage that it would do to the ship itself.'

'Indeed. And such a shame it would be to damage such a fine and beautiful vessel.'

Great. What had happened to the great balance of things, now, if even the Helmites were developing a sense of humour? Giving in with a sigh, Jaheira did the only reasonable thing that was left for her to do – smirking, she picked up the pillow from the floor, and aimed it at Anomen's face.


	6. Signals

_Just another scene from Havarian's ship. I thought Saemon and the vampires might have ways of exchanging information before the party arrives to Brynn Law, and this is what came up. Enjoy!_

* * *

'Father?', Alhena called out to the tall figure standing a few feet away from her, but there was no response.

She could recognize him well enough, though. He was the right height and the right build, and the old wooden staff and well-worn clothes were the same that he'd worn on the day of their departure, ages and ages ago. He stood there motionless, his back turned to her, and gazing quietly ahead in the distance. She called him again, eliciting no more answer than the first time, as if he could not even hear her at all. She shuddered in spite of herself. It would be so easy to take one step forward, just one, and another-

Each further movement allowed her to make out more details – the pale hue of the soft silver light spread over his short brown hair, half turned to grey, the intricate patterns of the fabric of his cloak, each strand glistening in the strange moon glow... It looked so much like him, and at the same time not, as if he were not really there at all, and had been replaced by some sort of life-sized waxen figure that was not even alive... Of course – that was what it was waiting for – that she would reach out to touch him, and then he would turn to face her and embrace her, and then only would she realize that it was but one of those grey-skinned monsters that had dared impersonate him back in Candlekeep – too late, too late... And then a brilliant flash of reddish light flared in her eyes, waking her with a start.

Alhena's eyes opened wide as she found herself in the waking world once more. Was it daylight? Was it morning already? But the room around her was still and dark and silent, except for the peaceful sound of Anomen's breathing next to her. Thank the gods, she had not disturbed him – he had enough trouble sleeping already as it was. She breathed deeply, in a doomed attempt to calm her pounding heart, and lay backwards, staring above her at the invisible ceiling. Her eyelids started feeling heavy again, but she sought to fight off the fogs of sleep for a while, knowing well enough what awaited her beyond.

Suddenly, the same red light flared up again, and for an instant the entire room was flooded with a sick glow that spread all over the blanket and cast long shadows over the wall, invading every creak and interstice between the wooden planks. The light flickered out again, leaving the room to the darkness – then reappeared and disappeared again, then again, at various intervals, following some sort of strange irregular but wilful pattern.

What could that mean? They wouldn't reach Brynn Law before late afternoone the following day, and surely they were still too far away from the coast for it to be a merchant vessel of a stray fishing boat.

Fully alert now, Alhena pushed away the blanket carefully, carefully, to not wake him up, and flew to the window as swiftly as the swaying floor under her feet would allow her to.

She took a quick glance outside, weary to keep to the shadows herself, and immediately found the source of the light – there was another ship, gliding a few yards away over the silent waters, struggling to keep pace with Havarian's vessel. It looked grey and low on the water, with a wide triangle-shaped sail that seemed purple in the artificial twilight. The foreign, heavy mass crouched some distance away between the waves, like an ancient wild beast on the prowl, waiting patiently. Something on the deck was giving away flashes of light in their direction, probably a lantern, opening and closing regularly along pre-established patterns to create some sort of signal, undecipherable to her. Occasionally it stopped, only to be, quite alarmingly, responded to by matching flashes from their own ship.

A sense of foreboding came over Alhena, as her senses were assaulted with memories, phantom scents of old incense and cinnammon and dust, the smells of ancient vaults and crypts hidden underground, not quite unoccupied.

She glanced back at Anomen, who lay still in undisturbed sleep, and then back at the ship. Somebody else needed to see this. She took a deep breath, allowing herself a second to think – he was sleeping so well for once, this was not fair – then went back to his side and shook his shoulder gently.

'Ani?'

He stirred in half-sleep, and vaguely murmured something incoherent. Alhena's lips curled in amusement, despite her ever-increasing alarm – the light could wane off definitively any second now.

'Anomen, wake up, please?', she urged, more decidedly this time.

'Mm-mm?'

'You need to come and see this, there's another boat!'

The young man forced himself awake as her words reached his understanding, and followed her to the window. Out onto the water, the silent communication was still carried out between the two ships, and they watched the exchange closely for a moment.

'Can you make out any of this?', Alhena inquired.

'Unfortunately, I cannot. The Order uses such means of communication occasionally, but as much as it pains me to admit it, this particular system evades my knowledge.'

They kept silent for a moment, watching helplessly.

'Damn that Havarian', Anomen blurted out suddenly, 'I knew that he could not be trusted.'

'We don't know that for certain. Maybe one of his crew members...'

The lights outside extinguished suddenly, and darkness closed around them once again. They waited for a moment, but the flicker did not come back. Obscurity settled down over them little by little, layer after layer like a heavy cloud of dust. Enfolded in silence, answering both to the same unspoken impulse, they huddled closer to each other for comfort and safety.

'I don't like this', Alhena whispered after a while, and her words sounded strange and hollow in the surrounding darkness. 'We'll have to tell the others about that first thing in the morning.'

She shivered, and Anomen gave her hand a reassuring squeeze and draped his arm around her shoulders. Holding on to each other they watched over the darkened sea outside, searching the night for signs that the light may return, or hints or clues that the other vessel had ever been there at all.


End file.
